


We're All Just Passing Through

by nukablastr



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Before We Go, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Defense Attorney Barba, Eventual Happy Ending, Homicide Detective Carisi, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Rita Calhoun is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-17 09:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nukablastr/pseuds/nukablastr
Summary: After a series of disasters cause Rafael to miss the last train back to Boston, a chance encounter with a stranger may redefine what it means to go home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first attempt at an AU story! I had a lot of fun with this challenge, and I hope it's enjoyable for you too. I'm in love with all of the movies that Before We Go paid homage to (Before Sunrise trilogy etc.), so this might blur the lines between a few other movies in the same category (but then, the movies do it too so!).
> 
> The story is sort of loosely pre-canon, with some real attempts at attention to detail in that regard, but it's based on the alternate premise that Rafael stayed in the Boston-area after Harvard.

**October 22nd, 2011**

 

Over a boozy lunch that Saturday afternoon, watching the last of the October leaves fall in the dappled autumn sunlight, Rafael admitted to his old friend Rita that he felt like he was running from something. It was the first time he’d put it into words, the nebulous feeling that had been haunting him for weeks.

“You? Running? Ha!” Rita miscalculated a  dramatic sip from her brightly colored drink, struggling to swallow against the laughter that consumed her. “Oh my god, I can’t imagine you running anywhere.” She nearly choked on the image she’d painted, and he told her once she’d regained her composure that he would have been glad if she had.

And so, fittingly, that afternoon’s exchange was the only thing he could think of as he huffed through Penn Station late that evening, cutting through crowds of oblivious passengers, desperate to catch the phantom who’d snatched his jacket.

 _Yes_ he thought between panting breaths. _Me. Running. Ta-da._

He took the stairs in labored twos and burst into the cold of the night. His soft sweater did him no favors as the chill of impending winter crept into his bones, and the strap of his leather bag was starting to chafe against his neck. Up and down the avenue no one else was running; no one was wearing his jacket or gloating about the sucker from whom they’d stolen it.

Whoever took the coat had plucked it right off the bathroom stall door where he’d hung it. The burn of it was that he thought to himself it was a dumb move as he made it, leaving the coat unattended as he made himself vulnerable. But really, statistically, how likely was he to have his jacket snatched in a highly populated men’s bathroom?

Traffic sounded in the distance, revving of engines and the occasional honk, and it was mesmerizing in its own way, a nostalgic soundtrack of his life before Boston. He listened for a minute, thinking of Jerome Avenue, of his mother and what she must be up to that evening. Probably working, he thought, like he would be if he was home.

 _Home._ _Shit._ He glanced at his watch, and its hands had edged dangerously close to his departure time. His lungs hurt from the exertion, a pain amplified by the chill in the air he breathed, and he stumbled back down the stairs much less gracefully than he’d ascended.

An announcement echoed throughout the station: _Final call for the 10:48 Acela Express to Boston departing from Track 14._

Thank God, he still had some luck left at least. The system began to announce a New Jersey Transit train when another voice cut into Rafael's periphery.

“Hey there! Yeah, hey, ‘scuse me, sir?”

A man was bounding over to him, tall and lanky with thick hair greased back, almost a pompadour if not for lacking some panache. Rafael squared himself, not quite ready to encounter whatever else the universe had in store for him. Knowing his luck, the easy confidence in the stranger’s gait as he approached, it was likely some grifter running a scheme.

“I’m not in--” he began, but the man held something out to him.

“You lost this,” he said, wagging a phone between his long fingers. “I saw you run by and it fell outta your pocket.”

“Thank you,” Rafael said, snatching it, his heart falling as he took in the full detail of it. The screen was tellingly dark and patterned with fresh cracks, unresponsive to any buttons pressed. He shook his head, flipping it over again and again in his hand, scrutinizing its angles. “Of course.”

“Sorry, I think it might’ve broke when it fell,” the man offered, too late to be helpful. “You okay? I saw you runnin’.”

_The 10:48 Acela Express to Boston is now departing from Track 14. The 10:54 New Jersey Transit--_

“Shit!” Stuffing the now-dead phone in his pocket, Rafael took off at a clip, leaving the helpful stranger without so much as a thank you.

Each pounding footstep was interspersed with flagrant obscenities uttered barely below his breath, things spoken that he’d knew he’d feel halfway guilty for on the entire train ride back. But there was no train. Of course there wasn’t. A world-weary attendant stopped him just shy of the escalator and held up a hand. “Sorry sir, the Northeastern hasn’t arrived yet.”

“The Acela,” he said, panting, craning to see what little he could down the escalator. “Boston?”

“Just departed, sir.”

He pulled out the folded sheet from his pocket, “But I have a ticket--”

“If you missed your train,” the attendant said in a slow monotone, clearly a practiced speech, “you can call our customer service line at--”

“When’s the next train? To Boston?”

This question seemed to catch the attention of the attendant, who looked him square in the eye. “Do I look like I run the trains?”

Rafael stalked back out into the crowds to wallow in his misery. He stood among a smattering of travelers, all watching the departures boards and periodically checking their phones, some munching on pastries from paper bags. He watched couples and families navigating the escalators with a variety of suitcases and packages, all coming and going with their cups of coffee and dog-eared paperbacks tucked into elbows. If he knew one thing for certain at this moment, it was that he should never have made this trip.

\---

_“The call you have made requires a coin deposit--”_

Rafael dropped the receiver back into its cradle and stuck his fingers into the coin return. Nothing. He’d tried the same move with each of the clustered payphones by the exit, but nothing worked; there was no banked credit, no forgotten coins in the machines. He’d have to ask for the mercy of a stranger’s cell phone.

“Hey again--” said a voice from behind him, startling him. It was the man who’d found his phone, now holding a large steaming cup and a goofy sort of smile. “Didja need to make a call?” He gestured his cup toward the payphones. “I didn’t know they still worked, you know, now that everyone has cell phones.”

“I’m alright,” Rafael said before he could think better of it. “Thanks.” He should have asked the guy for his phone.

The man took a sip of his coffee. “You sure? Cause, I don’t mean to pry but, it seemed like you were digging around for--”

“Alright, look. My wallet was stolen. My jacket,” he corrected, “with the wallet inside of it, was stolen. My phone, well, you saw that. And due to the ill-advised pursuit of the jacket thief, I missed my train.” He tried to smile, but the muscles in his face ached. He wanted to put a humorous spin on it, something biting, but words failed him. “It’s… been a disaster.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did you want to report the theft?” The man hitched his shirt up at the hip, revealing a flash of badge at his belt. “S’not my jurisdiction, not my department, but I know some of the guys at Midtown South. I could get you over there, no problem.”

Of course he was a cop. Because what Rafael really wanted to do was spend the next four hours waiting at a busy precinct to tell some overworked officer he was robbed at a train station, just like fifteen other people that evening probably.

“No officer, I’m fine, really there’s no need for all that.”

The man seemed to sense something in Rafael’s hesitance, because his tone turned soft, “It’s no problem, really. I’m off duty. I was just offering to help.” He stuck out his free hand. “I’m Dominick, by the way. Call me Sonny though, everyone does.”

Officer Sonny. What luck.

“Rafael,” he replied, taking the man’s hand in a firm shake. Closer, the guy looked just about young enough to pull off the diminutive, and he was suddenly curious about how one earned that sort of distinction, how it lasted into adulthood. Probably a father who cared, for starters.

“So someone nabbed your jacket, Rafael?”

He recognized the tone from interrogation rooms, that saccharine sort of textbook empathy: repeat the person’s name to remind them of your humanity. Or their humanity. Someone’s humanity.

Which is not to say that it didn’t work. He felt compelled to unburden a bit, if not only to have someone bear compassionate witness to his string of disasters.

“I wasn’t paying attention. Threw it over a bathroom stall, and--” He twitched his shoulders.

“Didja get a look at the guy?”

“I was otherwise occupied.” Rafael cleared his throat and when Sonny looked no less confused, he clarified: “In the bathroom.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry. Like I said, just tryin’ to help.” Sonny set his coffee atop the shell of the pay phone and dug for coins in his pocket.

Rafael softened. “You really don’t have to.”

“Well, then, officially, I’d rather give you some change than find you panhandling.”

The notion of panhandling put his situation into a dismal perspective. The woman at the information booth had told him the next train to Boston wouldn't arrive until 6:08 AM, leaving more than six hours to kill. With only his leather bag at his hip, containing a change of clothes and a few toiletries, and no money to speak of, he realized how excruciating this wait was going to be. As if on cue, his stomach growled.

“Did you check the trash cans?” Sonny asked as he separated a few coins from lint in his palm, and a quick hint of amusement passed over his face. Rafael wondered if his stomach had been audible just then, and he shifted his weight uneasily.

“Uh, no?”

“Nah, s’just -- unless your perp was really into Armani, he was probably more into what was in the wallet than anything else. He’d likely just toss anything that wasn’t a means to an end.”

Rafael arched a brow. “Armani?”

“I just”--Sonny waved his free hand--”assumed, you know?”

“You know what they say about assumptions.” It was sharp off his tongue before Rafael could really consider his tone, his audience; but if Sonny took it poorly he didn’t show it.

“Well here’s those quarters,” Sonny said, dumping some change into Rafael’s open palm. “You make your call, I’ll go check the trash cans around the block. What kind of jacket did you say it was?”

Rafael looked from the coins to Sonny, then back to the coins. “A peacoat. Navy.” He glanced away, knowing he was about to eat crow. “Neiman Marcus.”

Sonny grinned. “Hey, I was kinda close, huh?”

Rafael rolled his eyes and spoke flatly: “Yes, astute observations. Maybe you should consider detective work.”

Sonny’s laugh echoed down the corridor of the station’s exit, and Rafael was left wondering what exactly just happened, why this guy had taken such an interest. It took a minute to set in, but he realized that if he stood there much longer holding a handful of quarters aloft like an offering, he was likely to be robbed a second time. Or a third, depending on how you looked at it. He closed his hand quick and considered the payphone and what would be his best course of action in the moment.

He could always just call his mother. She’d let him stay the night, at least. She’d feed him. It would, however, require a lengthy explanation from him, and an even lengthier lecture from her. He nixed that idea. He’d had enough lectures for a while.

Rita might be able to help him; the entire 36 hours he’d spent in New York had been a form of her assistance, so to speak, as she’d set up the one of the job interviews with her law firm and, on top of that, let him spend the night at her comfortable Park Slope apartment. Without his cellphone’s list of contacts, however, he realized he didn’t know a number to reach her.

With no one left to call upon, he replaced the receiver in its cradle and palmed the quarter that was returned to him. What he needed was his wallet. And maybe a meal.  

Sonny returned a few minutes later, and while he was empty handed, he was cheerful all the same.

“Alright,” he said. “I got good news and bad news. Good news, I did find the coat in a trash can. Least I think it was yours. A blue peacoat.”

Rafael frowned. “And this is the good news?”

“Yeah, cause see, the bad news is someone definitely puked on it. Or puked on the trash can in general. I doubt they were aiming. And there was no wallet.”

Rafael noted then how Sonny had been standing with his hands held away from his sides, and he grimaced.

“You… you touched it?” Rafael gestured towards his hands.

“In my defense I didn’t see the puke at first. Anyway, I’m gonna go wash up in the bathroom. Don’t go anywhere, ‘kay?”

Rafael wasn’t sure what was more astonishing: that this stranger had just willingly dug in a New York City trash can, or that he could retain a sense of cheer after touching strange vomit in said trash can. That even now he was still endeavoring to be helpful. Rafael breathed in deep through his nose, overcome with a light, eager feeling. A dangerous feeling. He had half a mind to slip away undetected just to squash the thrill of it.

But true to his word, Sonny returned after a moment, wiping his hands on his pants with that same grin still plastered on his face, and Rafael felt tethered to his small patch of carpet.

“Okay, all better. Phew. Wild Saturday night, am I right?”

“Depends on your grasp of English,” he shot back.

Sonny smirked. “Funny. Anyway, did you make your phone call?”

Rafael gave the quarters back. “Truth be told, I’m kind of stuck on who to call. The woman at the information booth told me the next train runs at 6 in the morning. Without my wallet, there’s not much else I can do.”

Sonny thought it over for a moment. “Maybe we could get you a taxi. I bet it’d cost an arm and a leg, though. Huh. Oh wait, how about one of those busses?”

“A bus?”

He must have made a face, because Sonny immediately clarified: “Nah, not like the casino buses for the blue hairs. I’m talkin’ about the Chinatown ones, you know? Not the most luxurious ride, the buses look like they’ve seen better days, but they go everywhere. At all hours, I think. I took one to visit my sister up in Connecticut a while back. Sat next to this kid who kept applying some sorta ointment in his mouth--”

“Fascinating as this is…” Rafael cut in, impatient. If there was a bus to be had, he needed to be on it.

“Sorry. Right. Lemme see…” he pulled out his phone and clicked his tongue. “Almost outta juice. I’ll see what I can find before it dies.” Rafael took Sonny’s occupation with the phone as a moment to truly study him. He had a good three inches on Rafael, with light hair that seemed to be fighting against its slick gel. Looking at him, how he swayed as he typed at his phone, Rafael was reminded of a nature show he watched a few weeks ago, something about a family of gazelles. He thought of their fawns, how they were restless, all legs and knobbly knees.

“Looks like there’s a depot on Allen Street down in Lower East,” Sonny said, turning the phone’s map toward Rafael. “We could catch the F, or we could just take a cab. How about we just take a cab?”

Rafael arched a brow. “We?”

\---

 “No bus,” grunted the woman behind the counter where Sonny leaned his elbows. She was a dour sort with thick glasses that, at certain angles, reflected fluorescent lighting in blinding rays. “Tomorrow morning,” she said as she shuffled some papers. “Seven-thirty.”

“You sure that’s all you got?” Sonny asked, ducking his head and laying on a thick layer of earnest charm, almost verging into flirtation. “Nothing that goes overnight anywhere near Boston?” When there was no immediate response, he added, “Do you happen to know if any of the other buses ‘round here run overnight?”

“Seven-thirty,” the woman repeated without looking up from the papers. “Eighteen dollars.”

Sonny turned back to Rafael, his expression apologetic. Rafael was annoyed; this jaunt had been an exercise in futility, and what’s more, a waste of time and resources. He should have just bit the bullet and called his mother from the payphone, weathered the lecture for her assistance.

“Maybe you could call a car service,” Sonny offered as they left through the smoked-glass doors, bells jingling behind them. “You know, like the long distance taxi things.”

“It’s a five hour drive, at least” Rafael snapped. “The base fare alone would be astronomical.”

“Jeez, sorry I--”

“Just assumed I could cover it,” he finished darkly. It was his exhaustion speaking, the weight of his failures, and the grim realization that he’d be spending his entire night trying to find a comfortable spot on an uncomfortable chair.

A wounded look passed over Sonny’s face, replaced quickly with a determined set of his jaw. “Wow. Okay. Let me just get outta the way”--he gestured down the empty sidewalk--“you know, of the line of guys trying to help you out.”

His sincerity, albeit a bit dramatic in presentation, broke through that hardened feeling that had been welling Rafael’s chest, that often-impenetrable wall of frustration. He rubbed at his brow. “I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s been the worst night.”

Sonny rubbed his jaw. “I get it. Hey, you still hungry?”

“What?” Rafael struggled to keep track of the conversation, how Sonny bounced so affably between what was a life-altering moment and the state of his stomach.

“I got the ah, sense you were hungry earlier. There’s a good pizza place around the corner, my treat.” He grinned. “You can get the next one.”

Rafael scoffed. “That’s awfully presumptuous.”

“Fair, but in my defense, it got you to look a little less like you’re attending a funeral, so...”

Rafael realized then that he’d started to smile despite himself, despite his fervent commitment to his own misery and self-pity. He remembered something Rita had said that afternoon over their lunch, marveled at how applicable it seemed in this moment.

 _It might not feel like it now, but this is a good thing,_ she’d said, waggling a forkful of lettuce as though she were conducting an orchestra with it. _To mourn or to celebrate, that’s a choice you make. Choose to celebrate it, Rafael._

“I’ll choose the toppings,” he said finally, an acquiescence.

“Talk about presumptuous!” Sonny began to lead them down the street. “But, okay. Fine. I guess I can live with those terms.”

"Good," he replied. "Because I'm nothing if not stubborn."

"You know what?" Sonny couldn't keep a straight face as he spoke. "I had kinda figured that out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for your (continued) support! <3 Comments are always warmly welcomed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced, if ya wanna listen along, is [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFDlnkEwZc8). The Nat King Cole version has lyrics, but this instrumental version was my inspiration.

Seated in the green plastic booth of a nearby pizza joint, Rafael was not surprised to find that Officer Sonny ate his pizza with the reckless abandon of a teenager, folding his slices in half and catching threads of melted cheese on fingertips. He found it almost endearing, Sonny's apparent lack of self-consciousness.

“I can’t help but notice your phone,” Rafael said. He wiped at his mouth with his napkin as Sonny typed quickly in between bites; he had been checking it every few minutes since they’d sat down with their food. “Seems you’re quite popular.”

“Huh? Oh, nah. It’s nothing.”

Rafael could see the greasy thumbprints glistening on the phone’s screen as Sonny set it down.

“Girlfriend wondering why you’re out so late?”

Sonny turned pink at the question and washed down a big mouthful with his soda. “No, not-- no.”

“I see,” Rafael replied knowingly. _Oh well,_ he thought to himself. At least he hadn’t given that particular line of thought much room to blossom, the general weakness he had for a long pair of legs and, moreso, such an earnest smile.

“Seriously, no girlfriend.” He took another big bite of pizza and continued around it, “I was supposed to go to this thing, that’s all.”

“A thing?”

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “A wedding.”

“A wedding,” Rafael repeated. “That’s a little more than a thing.” He took a sip from his red plastic cup, then tipped it toward Sonny. “I hope you weren’t the groom.”

Sonny laughed. “Nope. Not the groom.”

“A groomsman?”

“Nah. Gimme some credit.”

Rafael checked his watch; it was just after midnight. “It seems kind of late for a wedding,” he said.

“Well yeah. It’s the reception now, I guess,” Sonny said. “Or the after party, I dunno. It was at some hotel on West 36th, the wedding was a whole ballroom thing.”

“Sounds...expensive,” Rafael said as he assessed Sonny’s casual attire, his soft looking t-shirt underneath his dark jacket. It didn’t exactly scream ballroom wedding.

Sonny looked down at himself. “What? Oh, no, trust me, not like, fancy or nothin’. I mean the wedding was -- her parents are loaded. But by now, I’m telling you, there’s been at least one fistfight, and someone’s ripped off their shirt. And those would be entirely separate incidents. They’re at a bar by now.”

“Sounds like your police presence would be a buzzkill,” Rafael replied.

“Ha, yeah. Well these are high school buddies, so they knew me before the badge. Besides, I work homicide now so, I’m pretty confident it won’t come to that.”

“One would hope.” Rafael took a bite of his crust. “So, why are you here and not there?”

Sonny thought it over, then answered with all the enthusiasm of a boy-scout: “Consider it my good deed of the evening.”

“Well, you’ve already bought me food and made what most would call an admirable attempt with the stoic bus attendant. I’d say your good deed is done. So.” He raised a brow. “The question still stands.”

“Oh yeah? That all I’m good for, free pizza and some charm?” He popped a final bite of crust in his mouth with a smirk. “Eh. I guess I’ve heard worse.” He sounded then like he was only halfway joking, but before Rafael could press him on it, he continued: “Anyway, I’ve got an idea.” He gathered the napkins and paper plates onto the silver tray that their small pizza had been served on. “Hear me out, alright?”

“Your deflection is noted.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. So look my buddy, Tim, he’s been trying to get me out to this bar -- he works the door there on the weekends. It’s a jazz bar. It’s pretty close by, which is part of why I never get around to going. Wanna check it out?”

“Jazz?”

“Well yeah, that’s the other half of why I never get around to seeing the place. But…” He trailed off, and seemed to rethink what he was going to say. “It’s called Twelve Bar. Kinda cheesy, but it sounds like a good time. Here, think it over while I trash this.”

Sonny walked their collected trash to the can in the corner of the storefront, and Rita’s words echoed in Rafael’s head: _mourn or celebrate_. If he was being honest, he’d done a lot of mourning over his situation, and he wasn’t looking forward to doing another five hours of it alone in an Amtrak lounge. If nothing else, taking up with some chivalrous, good-looking stranger he’d likely never see again would be the kind of story to make Rita proud. He'd take great satisfaction, at least, in recounting the tale.

“So, what do you say?” Sonny asked as he walked back, and Rafael stood to meet him.

“Why not? Can’t be any worse than my night’s already been.”

“That’s the spirit. Definitely what you want to hear after buying someone a meal, am I right?”

He felt a tinge of remorse for having phrased it that way and thought to himself that he might offer some clarification. But the look on Sonny’s face as he held the door, the way clapped Rafael on the back as they exited the pizza parlor together, Rafael instead began to think that Sonny was enjoying the deprecating banter.

\--

They came to the mouth of an alley nestled between a tarot reader and a closed Sushi joint. A deep set awning was barely visible mid-way down, partially illuminated by dim blue neon.

"Seems like that'd be the place," Sonny gestured towards what they could see, and Rafael squinted into the darkness. It seemed dubious that anything good would come from venturing into a dingy alley with a relative stranger, but at the same time he felt strangely untethered from his general good sense. He was caught up in the rush, the adventure of it all, the story it would become.

"You okay?" Sonny asked, seeming to sense his hesitation. “Cause we could go somewhere else.”

"I'm fine," Rafael replied, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. "Lead the way."

He followed Sonny into the darkness, finding that as they approached the recessed entrance, a sign in the window read Twelve Bar, the words artfully arranged on a swirling music staff. A burly, balding man perched on a tall chair by the doorway was animated by their approach, or maybe more specifically Sonny's approach. Rafael supposed that this guy was the bouncer friend that Sonny had mentioned.

"Sonny Carisi! Holy shit, dude! What's up?" The man slid off the chair to greet them.

"Hey Tim!" Sonny embraced the man in a brief, back-slapping hug. "Good to see ya, buddy."

"Same, man! I've only told you about this place what, like 80 fuckin' times. Glad you finally made it! Lemme see some IDs, am I right?" Tim turned his attention to Rafael, who smiled only as much as was necessary in greeting. He instinctively went for his wallet, remembering as he patted his pocket that it was long gone.

“You're cool man,” Tim said with a chuckle. “You look plenty old enough.”

"Tim, this is Rafael," Sonny cut in quick, gesturing toward Rafael, his tone apologetic. "He's a friend of mine. From out of town."

Rafael bit down on the urge to correct both of them on their numerous offenses, and instead settled on a grim expression.

"Cool cool." Tim looked between the two of them, adjusting thick glasses that had slid down the bridge of his nose.

"Well anyway, I told Rafael here that you guys have good music here, so…" Sonny gestured toward the door, appearing eager to end the interaction.

"Hell yeah we do," Tim replied. "Some Japanese chick tonight, I dunno." Tim turned his attention to Rafael, "Dude, if you like jazz, you'll love this shit."

"A ringing endorsement," Rafael said, before he could think through how the sarcasm might land in this case. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sonny crack a smile, then just as quick swipe the back of his hand across his mouth, setting the expression back to neutral.

"Sounds great,” Sonny said. “We’ll see ya 'round!"

The bar itself was dark, scattered tables lit with tea lamps, and a wide bar glittering with soft light fixtures. There were a smattering of patrons, an older crowd mostly sitting, their conversations a dull murmur. A weathered piano was parked in a far corner of the room, illuminated by creamy spotlights, the brightest light in the place. Tucked impossibly tight into the corner beside it were the rest of the instruments, a drum and standing bass laid on its side. The players were nowhere to be found; Rafael assumed they must have taken a break.

Sonny chose a small round table for them, closer to the band than the bar. Once Rafael had sat himself in a chair, Sonny leaned over him.

“What’ll you have?”

The hint of a summery linen scent that came with the closeness, mingling with sweet mint and something indescribable, oddly nostalgic, Rafael found himself unable to look directly at Sonny to respond. He grabbed the sticky table tent advertising cocktails with names longer than their list of ingredients, entertaining it as though he were the kind of guy to order something so kitschy.

Still regarding the description of a drink called The Shape of Gin to Come, Rafael said, “Whiskey. Neat."

Sonny flashed him a thumbs up, that damn smile bookended by dimples, and wove his way effortlessly through the scattered tables. Rafael’s stomach knotted, and he hoped it was just the pizza. What exactly had he gotten himself into?

When Sonny returned a few minutes later, Rafael took his glass greedily. The warm burn hit him and he fluttered his eyes in relief, a satisfaction so deep that he worried he might have audibly groaned.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tipping the glass and setting it on the table. Sonny had been watching him, appearing amused by something. Maybe he _had_ groaned.

“Not a problem.” Sonny took a swig of his bottled beer. “I mean, don’t tell anyone I bought a drink for a Sox fan, but no problem.”

Rafael laughed, one of the first genuine laughs he’d had in a while, the kind that reverberated across his chest. “You can hold on to your pride, I wouldn’t consider myself a fan.”

“Good. So, you come to the city often?”

“Born and raised, actually.”

“Really. Where ya from?”

Rafael snorted, remembering Sonny’s earlier assumptions. He delighted in shattering those kinds of perceptions. “South Bronx. _El barrio_.”

Unsurprisingly, Sonny’s curiosity morphed into confusion. The reveal had never failed to do this to a guy. “No shit?” It was more statement than a question. “Had my first beat around there. The 46th.”

“Interesting,” Rafael replied. He wasn’t keen on discussing policing efforts in his childhood neighborhood, and so he deflected. “I’d ask where you were from, but I’ve got a good guess.”

Sonny leaned back in his chair and huffed a laugh. “Nah. Can’t be that obvious.” He drew out the words.

"Oh, but the accent is the least of it,” Rafael replied, a sly remark, and he delighted in how it twisted Sonny’s face in exasperation. He changed tack: “Look, if I'm going to be your out of town friend, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

"More ammunition, huh? Okay, okay. Um, s'not too much to tell. Yes, Staten Island, born and raised. Catholic School, got the rosary and assorted complexes to show for it. Got three sisters, two older, one younger." He squinted in thought. "That's probably it, really."

"That can’t be all. How'd you become a cop?" Rafael asked over his glass.

Sonny seemed to seriously consider the question, but then his expression turned mischievous. "Well, I mean, by attending police academy."

"Ugh." Rafael rolled his eyes.

Sonny beamed, taking apparent pleasure in his own comedy: "Just like any other cop, y'know. Academy, feats of strength, that kinda stuff."

"Good one. Really. Very straightforward. Well, okay, so how do you know Tim the bouncer out there?"

"Ha," Sonny said, "He's a trip, right? Ah let’s see, I think we met in 8th grade, so… wow that’s like..." he trailed off as he calculated on his fingers, "94? Yeah? Or 95? How many years is that?”

Rafael nearly choked on his drink. "You said 94? 1994?" He coughed deeply, eyes watering with the whiskey burn.

Sonny appeared confused. "Yeah? How come?" He leaned in, face suddenly mired in concern. "You okay?"

The concern was almost more embarrassing than the revelation, and Rafael waved Sonny away as he cleared the fire from his throat. He had thought that Sonny seemed youthful; hell, he was an adult who went by Sonny. But Rafael had stopped just short of estimating an actual age for the guy, because ignorance was bliss after all, and he may have just proven the rule.

"God,” Rafael said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "That was... dear God. That was law school. For me. Middle school, you said?"

"Wow.” Sonny had an air of earnest astonishment about him that transitioned quick into impish delight. "That's definitely something."

"Wow yourself," Rafael snapped. "I should have known when you looked confounded by the existence of payphones."

"Hey, that’s not fair." Sonny put out a hand, his grin only growing. "I’ve used ‘em. You know, back in the day. And come on, you're not so old--"

"Stop. Before you dig yourself any deeper, just... stop." Rafael rubbed his eyes with his palms. He was admittedly amused by the thought of 14 year-old Sonny, probably just as lanky and consumed with gallantry, poring over comic books and whatever it was that middle-schoolers got up to while Rafael lived on black coffee and cigarettes, slaved over case briefs.

A small chuckle escaped him, and Sonny began to grin too, as if he'd been granted permission. The folly became exponentially contagious between them, and suddenly they were both lost in raucous, inexplicable laughter.

It was only this past Monday that Rafael been sitting in a briefing room, long after he dismissed his witness from trial prep, seemingly stuck to his seat. Immovable. He’d oscillated between wondering if his sudden physical inability was a medical emergency, or if it was simply indicative of the crossroads in his life that he was too scared to face. It was that evening that he called Rita, once he’d extricated himself from the chair, and asked her to set up the interview.

And now, deep in whiskey and laughter, entirely too comfortable despite his lack of personal effects, enjoying the company of a man ten years his junior, he wondered if it was all just symptoms of your typical mid-life crisis. If so, at worst, who could shake a stick at another forty years on Earth? He’d beat his father by a mile at that rate, and wasn’t that an admirable goal?

As the laughter faded, the hint of tears threatening the corners of his eyes, he looked to Sonny who was wiping his lower lids with his thumbs. If nothing else came of this evening aside from the phone calls to credit cards and, eventually, a better looking picture on his new driver's license, this moment was one he'd hold on to. He felt as though something had peeled off with the bout of laughter, as though he were lighter for it. This part, he decided, was not going to be attributed a mid-life crisis.

A small woman in a navy dress took to the stage, quieting the crowd as she sat at the piano to scattered applause. "Thank you," she said as her bandmates filtered onto the stage. "Thanks. We're Midnight's Memory, and we're so glad to be here with you all tonight."

Her voice was a quiet and soothing, the kind you'd expect on the stage of a bar like this. "We're gonna start this set with a favorite of mine. Well, this was a favorite of my father's, really. He was always a Nat King Cole fan, and so anyway, this one is for him. When Sunny Gets Blue." The song opened with minor chords, notes dancing in the air, an enthralling sound.

"See," Sonny broke Rafael’s concentration with a stage whisper. He scooted his seat closer, angling his view more towards the band as he moved. "Sonny."

Rafael rolled his eyes and looked back to the band. After a moment, he glanced sidelong at Sonny, whom he just barely caught turning away, swallowing a guilty grin. Rafael admired him there in profile as Sonny watched the band, the flickering light casting shadows over his broad nose and bright eyes, how he drew his fist over his lips casually as if it would mask his expression.

Sonny caught his eye again, a look as though they'd been sharing some joke, and it was Rafael’s turn to look away. He crossed his arms over his chest, concentrating hard on the bassist whose fingers roamed the neck of his instrument, attempting to stifle the prickling heat at his own neck.

But despite himself, overwhelmed by the childish exhilaration of what felt like flirtation, he caught Sonny's shy gaze lingering once more, a split second that seemed to last longer before they both turned back to the band, continuing this unspoken game.

Rafael felt then like the train station and the jacket theft had occurred on some other day to some other person. He felt eons away from the briefing room where he sat, from the forms he’d left on the kitchen table a week ago, his name next to the word "Spouse", a title he lost in the process.

The song ended with a jagged arpeggio and the audience applauded politely, a few patrons tinkling silverware against their glasses.

“That was nice,” Sonny whispered as the trio began another, more upbeat song. “I don’t listen to this stuff much, but it’s nice.”

“It is,” Rafael agreed, though he meant it more about the company than the music.

Sonny pulled out his phone suddenly. “Shit.” He slunk down in his chair and put it up to his ear. “Corey,” he whispered, “hey, not a great time. Okay… yeah… I’ll… sure… soon… Corey? Hello?” He pulled the phone away from his ear and it remained dark. “Shit,” he repeated, “it’s finally dead.”

“Did you have to go?”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “At some point. I was gonna crash with Corey in his hotel room tonight, before...” he trailed off.

“Oh. Well.” Rafael checked his watch, and though it was hard to see in the dim lighting, he could barely make out the hour hand hovering around the 1. “If you point me in the direction of Penn Station--”

“You wanna go?”

Rafael tilted his head. “I’ll need to get there at some point.”

Sonny clarified: “No, I mean with me? To the party?”

Going to a complete stranger’s wedding, or whatever it was at this hour, not to mention attending with someone who’d been actively avoiding it until this moment, it seemed unwise. The whole concept stretched Rita’s notion of celebration, the thing he'd been clinging to in order to rationalize any impractical decisions.

“Uh. Hm.” Rafael regarded the final sliver of whiskey in his glass. Perhaps this was the natural end of things. It felt like a shame, and he worked to bury that feeling.

“Come on,” Sonny said, nudging his arm. “It’ll be fun.”

“Says the man who’s been avoiding it like the plague.”

Sonny nodded. “Yeah, but, I dunno, can't a guy change his mind?”

Rafael finished his drink in a gulp. “Maybe I ought to just get back to the station and accept my fate.”

Sonny visibly deflated, and Rafael almost felt bad for him. He wouldn’t allow himself to personally indulge in any feelings one way or another; they were strangers, after all, and it had been fun while it lasted, but this was always how these things ended.

“I’ll get you back to the station at least,” Sonny offered, and seemed to want to say more.

“That sounds good.”

Sonny gestured toward the band. “Let’s just finish this song, though, okay?”

Rafael couldn't argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for your support! It means so much to me to share my nerdery with y'all. Comments and [tumblr friends](http://oh-little-owl.tumblr.com/) are always welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kind feedback thus far <3

The subway car they chose was sparsely populated, and Sonny took up a wide berth where he sat, his long legs stretched with knees angled outward. Rafael put his bag on a seat between them, compelled to create a boundary of sorts.

“So, you never told me why you were here in New York,” Sonny said as the train car rattled into motion.

“Observant.” Rafael watched a couple huddling together in the distance, sharing a set of earbuds between them as they rode.

After a beat, Sonny added: “So that’s usually a cue to share some sort of personal anecdote.”

“Is it really?” Rafael turned back to him, managing a neutral expression despite Sonny’s rolling eyes. “Fine. If you must know, a job interview.”

Sonny raked a hand through his hair. “Man, you basically know my entire life’s story by now and I don’t even know what you do for a living.”

“I’m a lawyer,” Rafael replied. “Suffolk County. Andrews, Dunsworth, and Associates.”

“Yeah, that explains a lot.” Before Rafael could display the requisite level of indignation at the jab, Sonny continued, “And now you’re lookin’ to move back home?”

The heart of the question caught Rafael sharp in his chest, unexpected. “I—yeah, you could say that.” The sentiment ached in a way that he couldn’t explain; it was such a simple way to summarize his plight.

Sonny considered it. “Think you’ll take the job?”

“Which one?” When Sonny furrowed his brow, Rafael clarified with a hint of pride: “I generated a lot of interest.”

“Damn,” Sonny said, huffing a laugh. He tucked his legs in closer as he hunched his elbows over his knees. “I bet you’re a real trip in the courtroom.”

“What makes you say that?” Rafael couldn’t help but preen a bit. He knew that he was; he’d heard it before, plenty. But he was oddly eager to hear his virtues expounded upon by Sonny.

“For one thing, confidence.” Sonny waved his hand, as if the whole of Rafael illustrated that fact. “I mean, that's almost an understatement, am I right?”

“Like a broken clock.” God, Rafael couldn’t help himself, especially when Sonny kept lobbing him these softballs. Sonny feigned exasperation, but there was something more beneath the surface, something that was eager to play into the dynamic.

The train hissed to a stop and passengers boarded, crowding the car. Rafael had no choice but to remove his bag and slide in beside Sonny to make room. As the train began to pick up speed, they were jostled together briefly, and Rafael’s heart skittered at the touch.

“Which one did you like better?” Sonny asked as they straightened themselves out. “Which job, I mean.”

Rafael licked his lower lip, thinking on the two disparate interviews he’d had. He thought of the suit he’d worn to both, the suit Rita was storing for him now, had been storing for months on the chance that he’d decide to come down for an interview. She’d been so patient and so helpful throughout this process; he owed her more than he'd likely be able to admit.

Rafael sighed. “I want something new. The private firm… Rita, a good friend of mine, she got me the interview, but it seems like it’d be more of the same. So I also talked with a friend at the Brooklyn DA’s office. Friend might not be the right word there, but…” He shrugged. “It seemed promising nonetheless.”

“DA’s office. Wow. Well, good luck with all that.”

They settled into a comfortable silence for the next two stops, watching the general population of their car ebb and flow. Then, apropos of nothing, Sonny blurted out: “You know, sometimes I think about bein’ a lawyer.”

Rafael smirked. “Dangerous. Maybe I should alert the Bar association.”

“Yeah, right, you do that.” Sonny shook his head. “No really, like I keep eyeing some of the programs around here, like night school. But I dunno… with my hours and caseload, seems like it’d just be askin’ for trouble.”

“Law school would be a challenge to balance, I’d think. You’d have to really want it.”

Sonny chuckled at that, a hollow sound. “So what if I have no idea what I want?”

“You’re not happy with police work?”

“Ah, I mean, it’s not that exactly.” Sonny leaned in closer, his tone conspiratorial: “Listen, when I started out on a beat, I couldn’t wait to make brass, right? I put in my hours, paid my dues to a real asshole of a sergeant. So I finally got the promotion and they put me on homicide. The hours are way crazier, there’s somehow both more and less to do. But the solves...” He trailed off and shook his head. “It’s just… different. Every time you solve one, more vics are cold and waiting to be ID’ed. It can get to you.”

Rafael clicked his tongue in commiseration. He’d never be able to stomach it, working as closely with death as a detective would. 

Sonny continued, “Solves are like… you win the battle, but you always know the war’s impossible. I like what I do, I like helping people--”

“Shocker.”

Sonny smirked. “Nah, it’s just, sometimes, I feel like I could be doing it better, or in a better way. Anyway, I know I’m ramblin’--”

Rafael cut in, “It sounds like you’re looking for a change of pace.”

Sonny thought it over, then shrugged. “Yeah, you know, I think I’d like that.”

Rafael smoothed the flap of his leather case on his lap and pulled it tight against his chest. “Join the club.”

\---

They meandered through the familiar streets heading toward Penn Station, neither addressing the fact that they’d slowed their pace to a near crawl the closer they got. Music and chatter drifted down the alleyways from bars and restaurants. It was a nostalgic, comforting sort of ambiance, the way the street lamps cut yellow circles of the pavement and buildings of gridded windows stacked impossibly tall around them.

Rafael had been describing a particularly climactic court case, one where the ancient judge had threatened him with being held in contempt at least twice. Sonny was enthralled by the story, his rapt attention only fueling the dramatics of Rafael’s retelling. He barely noticed when Sonny navigated them to a nearby bench at the mouth of a well-lit park and plopped down.

“So what,” he said, gesturing for Rafael to take the seat beside him. “The judge had to call a mistrial?”

Rafael looked onward, feigning consideration of their route before submitting to Sonny’s direction. “The look on the DA’s face was priceless. Like I’d personally slapped his mother.”

Sonny shook his head with a smile he seemed to be fighting against. “I probably shouldn’t be rooting for you in this scenario.”

Rafael hitched a shoulder. “Everyone has a right to a competent defense. Even criminals.”

“Can’t argue with that, unfortunately.”

They watched a woman pass by, dressed in a coffee-shop uniform and talking loudly on her phone. As her voice grew distant, Rafael asked, “So why is it you’re avoiding your friends’ wedding? Since it’s now come to sitting on a cold bench for no other apparent reason.”

Sonny slapped his hands to his knees. “Shit, I forgot about your coat. Are you cold? Do you wanna keep moving?”

“I’m okay at the moment.” Truthfully he _was_ cold, but he was also loathe to end their evening, and so he gritted against the chill. “So, let me ask you this, is it the bride?”

“What?”

“You’re afraid of the “speak now or forever hold your peace” part. You don’t strike me as someone who could easily hold their peace.”

“Oh, woah. No. It’s not like that. Not the bride.” He rubbed at his jaw.

“The groom, then?”

It seemed to catch Sonny off guard, the notion of it, and he chuckled nervously. “Jeez, no, not the groom. Look, it’s stupid.”

“I…” Rafael began, intending to say something biting, but the rather mournful look that passed over Sonny’s face took the wind out of those sails. “I’m sure it’s not stupid.”

“A lotta my high school buddies, the ones that are there, they went on to Wall Street. Somehow. I mean, if you saw ‘em in high school, you would never have guessed. Money is a real non-issue for them these days.”

“And so what, you can’t keep up with the bar tab?”

“Nah, it’s-- it’s more like”—he waved a hand, struggling to find the words for it—“like going into a room full of people who have achieved way more than you—and these are people who were once notable for dealing pot outta school bathrooms—but having _them_ expect _you_ to be the same goofball from high school. Like they can’t imagine you as anything else, can’t imagine you amounting to much.”

Rafael squinted. “But you _have_ achieved a lot, though.”

“Ah, well, they don’t really see it the same. To them the promotion to detective just means I never have time to 'power lunch.' And that I might have a trench coat now.”

Rafael chuckled.

“You laugh,” Sonny said, “but mark my words, two of ‘em will ask about the trench coat tonight.”

“If you’ve got friends on Wall Street, plenty of them will intimately understand the way detectives operate.”

Sonny laughed then, his whole body loosening as he leaned his head back, exposing the long line of his neck. Rafael looked away before he let himself stare.

“You sure you don’t want to come with?” Sonny asked, his amusement fading. “I could really use this brand of moral support.”

He shook his head. “I think you sell yourself short. Some down-on-his-luck stranger can’t solve that for you.”

“Huh.”

A beat passed between them, contemplative silence, as Sonny regarded the building in front them, looking up towards its rooftop. Rafael rubbed at his arms, wishing that at least he’d worn something warmer.

“I like you,” Sonny said simply. Then, seeming to think better of letting the statement hang, all that it could imply, he comically over-corrected: “I mean – not, I just meant you’re not a stranger. You’re a nice guy. I’m glad I met you.”

Rafael couldn’t look at him. “I am a stranger. If you knew me, you'd know I’m not nice.”

“Well I mean, you’re pretty tight lipped, sure. And maybe you’re quick to put a guy in his place. And to be fair I’ve pretty much told you a bunch of stuff I ought to be saving for a therapist.”  

“Is there a point to this?”

Sonny tapped him on the shoulder. “I’m just saying maybe you could meet me halfway. Then you wouldn’t be a stranger.”

Rafael stared intently at the crack in the pavement between his shoes. “You might not like me once you get to know me.” It sounded dramatic as he said it, and he regretted that a little. But from experience he’d found it to be one of his more defining characteristics, at least to hear others tell it.

Sonny grinned. “Your deflection is noted,” he said in a sing-song voice, echoing Rafael’s comment from the pizza shop.

Rafael rolled his eyes. “Fine. What is it you want to know?”

“Hmm. Everything?”

Rafael glanced sidelong, skeptical, but Sonny’s face remained earnest and bright. “No. Too broad.”

“Okay. _Withdrawn_ ,” Sonny said, entirely too pleased with his own wit, and Rafael gave a disgusted ‘ugh’ in response. Sonny tried again: “Well why’d you move all the way to Boston?”

“Aside from the exceptional baseball?”

“Ha ha. I deserved that.”

“Harvard,” Rafael said.

“ _You_ went to Harvard?”

Rafael scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Nah, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s impressive. Harvard law.” He said it as though he were marveling at a wonder of the world. “Huh. Okay, so… uh, is anyone waiting for you back in Boston?”

It sounded like a test, despite the way Sonny attempted to sound nonchalant as he spoke, all that nervous energy focused instead into fidgeting with the buttons of his jacket.

“Nope.”

“Really?” 

“I-- actually, I suppose I’m divorced now.” He hadn’t meant to broach the topic, but here he was, laying it all out nonetheless.

“Woah.” Sonny clicked his tongue, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-- to sound surprised, s’just--”

“We’ve been separated for a while, sitting on the paperwork so to speak.” He snorted. “I was the hold out, until I stopped holding out.”

“You’re still in love with her?”

“Him.”

“Oh.” Sonny looked down at his feet and went quiet.

“But to answer your question, no. We weren’t happy.” Rafael couldn’t believe he was admitting to any of it, but the words keep coming. “Hadn’t been happy in a long time, really. I... think I was more invested in the idea of not failing at marriage than I was invested in the marriage.” 

“Your parents, they divorced?”

He shot Sonny a dark look.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-- s’just, friends who’ve put it like that usually--”

“They did, yes, but they should have sooner,” Rafael replied. It was an understatement. “And that’s part of it, sure. But we were also among the first wave of people who exercised the right to marry in Massachusetts, so that was tied up in it too.”

Sonny grunted. “Wow. That’s… rough.”

“That’s life,” Rafael countered.

“Yeah. No arguments from me there.” Sonny rubbed the back of his neck and looked down the avenue as a distant, disembodied hiss became louder. “Huh. Hey, does that sound weird to you?”

Rafael looked too, trying to identify the source of the sound as it overtook them. “What is that…wait, shit.”

A few fat drops of water splattered on Rafael’s head, before the sky opened up and pelted them in earnest. A sudden torrent of icy rain bounced off the asphalt and pavement, the hissing they’d heard now almost deafening and accompanied by gurgling in the gutters.

“Shit shit shit!” Rafael jumped to his feet and hoisted his bag over his shoulder, rain drops burning in his eyes as they poured in buckets around him. Sonny grabbed his arm and dragged, and it was all Rafael could do to stay firm on his feet as they ran through grass and wet leaves toward something he couldn’t see. A crack of thunder echoed and lightning bathed them in a split-second of white light.

They stumbled somewhere dry enough that Rafael could catch his breath, wipe the rain from his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. It was soaked through; everything he was wearing was soaked through.

“Jesus,” Rafael said as he straightened his sopping hair. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Yeah, really! I don’t remember typhoon bein’ in the forecast today.”

As he gained his bearings, Rafael realized they’d gone deeper into the small neighborhood park, under the cover provided by a small wooden gazebo. He turned to find Sonny behind him, holding his coat over their heads like a makeshift umbrella, his shirt riding up at his sides. Sonny's hair had soaked completely through and hung in wet clumps, a ridiculous shag-dog look. He shook to try and move it from his eyes and glimmering droplets splattered against Rafael’s face.

“Watch it with that,” Rafael said, half as stern as he’d meant it to be. It felt strangely intimate, huddled beneath the jacket there as the rain battered the streets around them in waves. He could feel his traitorous heart racking against his chest as Sonny moved closer to better angle the jacket over the both of them.

Under the cover of the gazebo it was a bit of a moot point, but Rafael wouldn’t complain about the act of chivalry, the sense of security it afforded. Rafael moved in closer still until they were pressed flush against one another. His breath hitched at the contact; he’d assumed that Sonny would pull back and establish the boundary, but he didn’t.

“You okay?” Sonny asked, his voice gentle as strands of his hair fell back into his face. “Are you cold?” He sagged his arms a bit, then flipped the coat over and hung it on Rafael’s shoulders. It was a warm and welcome weight, amplified by Sonny’s broad hands and how they lingered there, pressing the shoulders smooth.

_Celebrate it._

Rafael, overwhelmed by a wave of tender affection, thumbed away a raindrop that had been trailing down Sonny’s cheek. Sonny closed his eyes at the touch, a look of contentment passing over his features. Thunder cracked again as Rafael leaned upward and drew Sonny into a gentle kiss. He reveled in the delighted sound that caught in Sonny’s throat, the way he could feel Sonny’s smile blossom against his own lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to [sashkash](http://sashkash.tumblr.com), whose [gorgeous art inspired a scene](http://sashkash.tumblr.com/post/170561503337). 
> 
> Comments and [tumblr friends](http://oh-little-owl.tumblr.com/) always warmly welcomed. Bonus if you spot my favorite SVU lines I attempted to weave in with absolutely no subtlety.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting this in just under the wire! It's been a crazy week, and I've struggled with some power outage issues this evening, so please excuse human error with this chapter as I just wanted to make sure I got it in on time. Thanks for all of your kind feedback thus far, and I hope you enjoy the conclusion <3

“It’s-- was that-- okay?” Rafael looked up to Sonny through his lashes and found himself at a loss for words. Sonny, however, was beaming. He was practically lighting their dry patch with it.

Sonny answered the question in kind, tangling both hands into Rafael’s wet hair and dragging him back up into an urgent kiss, a hint of teeth, almost sloppy in its eagerness. Rafael struggled to keep pace, and Sonny seemed to realize it just as quick.

Sonny looked sheepish as he pulled back. “I just--”

Rafael pulled the coat tighter around himself. “No, it’s just-- I’m freezing, and it’s maybe not the best place…” The cacophony of traffic cutting through the deluge faded back into focus.

“Yeah.” Sonny helped to straighten the jacket as Rafael dropped his bag and slipped his arms into the sleeves. “No, you’re probably right.”

The jacket was a bit tight at the shoulders, too long in other places, but Sonny was still able to button it across Rafael’s chest. It such was such a genuinely tender moment that Rafael couldn’t bear to watch Sonny’s fingers work.

“Here, I got an idea,” Sonny said, admiring his handiwork, smoothing the jacket at the sleeves.

“Another idea?”

Sonny scoffed. “My ideas have so far kept you fed. And whiskey’ed. And somewhat dry. Don’t knock my ideas. So how about this, you and me go to the party--”

“What, now? Like this?” If Rafael had objected to the notion before, he was at least not visibly dripping at that point.

Sonny shook his head. “I meant -- let me just get the hotel key from Corey. The room he and I were gonna share.” Rafael shot him a look, and he stumbled over a clarification: “I mean, so that you can just towel off and warm up and relax until you need to leave for your train. Or whatever. I’m not—I mean I liked”—he gestured between the two of them—“but I’m not trying to, um--”

Rafael mercifully cut him off, choosing to ignore the implication. “Won't Corey need the room?”

“I mean, maybe? He usually has no problem finding someone else to crash with if you catch my drift. But either way, he'd be cool with you getting dried off at least. Hey, look, you gotta admit”—Sonny ducked his head to meet Rafael’s gaze with the same air of charm he’d attempted on the bus attendant hours ago—“it’s gonna really beat sitting in your wet clothes in the train station, yeah? They keep that place at a temperate 58 degrees.”

Rafael could hear the rain had slowed from its punishing pace, the thunder now not so quick on the heels of the lightning. The walk might not be unbearable at this point; and besides, he did have a change of clothes in his bag that would be more comfortable. Still, Rafael felt uneasy, like his acquiescence would be showing too much of his hand, that part of him that buzzed at the thought of retreating somewhere warm and comfortable where they could continue what they’d just started.

“Trust me,” Sonny said then, as though he could read Rafael’s thoughts. There was an underlying question in the statement, underscored by the way Sonny bit his bottom lip and raised his brow as he waited for a response, all dimples with a hint of mischief. The look rendered Rafael entirely speechless, and he nodded mutely in place of things he couldn’t say.

\---

“Sonny! Jesus man, where the hell have you been?”

They’d barely pushed in to the crowded, wood-paneled bar that adjoined the ritzy hotel before a chorus of voices began to call various greetings in Sonny’s direction. His appearance had been long-awaited, so it seemed.

A guy approached, his dressy attire loose and sweaty, his bow tie undone and hanging at his collar. He asked in that same slurring accent, “What, you take a fuckin’ swim or something?”

Sonny did look notably worse for the wear now, his damp clothing clinging to his thin form, his general affability a bit muted, but Rafael wondered if it wasn’t in part due to having finally arrived here to face what he’d been avoiding. Rafael had, to his credit, tried to offer the jacket back on a few occasions during their walk over but Sonny wouldn’t hear of it.

“Did you miss the monsoon?” Sonny asked, thumbing over his shoulder toward the entrance. “It was pouring out there.”

“And who’s this?” The man asked, gesturing the neck of his beer bottle at Rafael.

Sonny gestured between the two: “Rafael, meet Corey. Corey, this is my friend Rafael. From Boston.”

Corey looked Rafael over, momentary confusion replaced by a shrug and a flick of his brow. “Cool. Fuck the Sox, though.”

“I see you two share that in common,” Rafael said, and Sonny snorted a laugh.

“In my defense, I didn’t put it like that. Anyway, Corey, lemme get a room key.”

“What the hell, you just got here man! I think Caroline was lookin’ for you.” He turned back toward the crowd behind him as though to try and locate someone.

“No, wait, I know,” Sonny said, tapping Corey on the shoulder and bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. “I’ll be back okay? We just gotta get dried off. I’m fuckin’ freezing.”

Rafael noticed how deep Sonny’s accent sounded now amongst old friends, how his words all seemed to string together.

Corey pulled a weathered wallet from his back pocket and located a plastic room key. “1422,” he said, looking suspiciously between the two of them. “I think I might crash with this blonde chick anyway, one of the bridesmaids.”

“Well the night’s young, am I right?” Sonny wagged the card before pocketing it.

“Cheers to that,” Corey replied, taking a healthy swig from his bottle and giving a glance to the crowd at the bar before adding, “I’ll see you ‘round buddy. Soon, okay?”

“Soon,” Sonny promised.

The connected hotel was a monstrosity of glass and gilded marble, and even without the sheen of rain glimmering off the both of them Rafael would have felt somewhat out of place there. He preferred a less ostentatious show of wealth, but who was he to judge how someone celebrated their nuptials.

The room was in the middle of a long hallway on the 14th floor. It was spacious and mercifully warm; one of the nicer hotel rooms Rafael had occupied in recent memory. Two large plush beds sat against the far wall, one whose bedding had been stripped in favor of a heap of clothing. He assumed that one must be Corey’s.

Rafael walked toward the picture window, admiring the cinematic view of the city. Despite their relative height, they were still enveloped in the endless sea of taller buildings, all the lights that twinkled on for miles. It’d been ages since he’d had this kind of view of New York.

“How do you want to do this?” Sonny asked from behind, tapping his shoulder, and Rafael almost jumped out of his skin. “Jeez, sorry!” Sonny clarified, “I just meant, do you have dry clothes?”

Rafael turned to find Sonny in the middle of toweling his hair dry, intermittently raking the curl from the ends. It was overwhelmingly domestic, and Rafael felt compelled to feign interest in the art on the wall instead, some swirling abstract.

“Look, why don’t you take a shower and get dried off,” Sonny continued, “And I’ll just go say hey to my friends downstairs. That’ll give you some privacy. Win-win, am I right?”

Rafael wanted him to stay instead, but couldn’t bring himself to say the words, so instead he said: “That works.”

Sonny too seemed to struggle with something on the tip of his tongue. “Don’t leave, okay?”

Once Sonny was gone, Rafael wasted no time stripping out of his damp clothing. He luxuriated in the warm shower, letting the powerful streams of water work the knots from his shoulders. He was unrepentant in his liberal use of all the available toiletries to lather himself within an inch of his life. It was the most relaxed he’d felt since he left Rita’s apartment, though really maybe longer than that.

Freshly toweled off and engulfed in the sweet scent of bath product, Rafael peeked out to find that Sonny was still gone. It was a disappointing discovery, but he realized that if he left now, packed his bag and slipped out quietly, it could be as though they never met. That would certainly save him from having to participate in the awkward conversation where they attempted to define their circumstances, and he halfway considered it just to save the trouble of dealing with feelings.

But he was tired; he couldn’t deny that. Plus, his skin was still pleasantly warm from the shower, and he was loathe to lose it to the early morning misty chill. The alarm clock between the beds read 2:42 AM, which gave him almost two hours to relax, so what would a bit of shut-eye hurt?

Rafael helped himself to one of the hotel’s plush bathrobes and clicked on the television, settling onto the undisturbed bed. Exhaustion set in quick and muted his brain, quelling all the decision trees that were endlessly branching through all the uncertainties of the next few hours. He fiddled with the clock until he felt relatively sure he’d set the necessary alarm, and then he closed his eyes.

\---

The world around Rafael came into focus in quick spurts: the television, now switched to some reality show; the dim lighting, the overhead light now off and replaced by the bedside lamp. A thick comforter was tossed over his legs, heavy and stiflingly hot. He was leaning on something and his neck felt tight with the awkwardly-angled sleep.

“Good morning,” Sonny said beside him.

Morning?

Rafael shot up in a panic and looked toward the window, but the scene was still inky with night.

“Woah, woah, you’re okay,” Sonny said from where he sat, propped against extra pillows he must have stolen from the other bed. “I wasn’t gonna let you oversleep. We do probably have to get going pretty soon though, it’s almost 4.”

Rafael rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You’re back. How was the party?” he croaked, voice raw, and he took a deep yawn to clear it.

“It was alright. Only one person asked me if I had a standard issue trench coat yet, so I’m glad I didn’t bet you on that bein’ a hot topic.”

Rafael huffed a laugh. “Did you sort things out?”

“Eh.” Sonny waved a hand dismissively. “I mean, there wasn’t much to sort out. It’s my own baggage, you know? Not their fault that they’re all wildly successful.”

“I still think you’re likely selling yourself short.”

Rafael settled back into the pillows and took in a minute of the television show Sonny had been watching. A woman was giving a talking-head interview in a painfully white room, sloshing a glass of red wine in her perfectly manicured hand.

Sonny pointed to the television and attempted to explain. “So, she wasn’t invited to the other lady’s party, but then she found out about it through a mutual friend, because of course she did, so she’s trying to decide if she’s gonna upstage it with her own party.”

“Fascinating. Truly.” He let himself drift over slowly, until he was leaning light against Sonny’s shoulder. Sonny took the cue to stretch his arm around Rafael’s shoulders and pull him in tight, Rafael’s ear against his chest. Rafael could feel the vibrations in Sonny's chest as he continued to explain the inane plot of the show, and he was lulled halfway back to sleep by the steady sound. In fact, he did fall asleep, because he found himself being shaken awake again.

“Hey, Rafael, you awake? Can I ask you a question?” Sonny continued to move Rafael gently when he didn't immediately reply.

“Hmm?”

Sonny took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy burst. “Your parents, they still live here?”

“My mother,” Rafael said. “My father’s dead.”

“I’m sor--”

“Don’t apologize.” Rafael brought his hand up to rest on Sonny’s chest and drew idle circles there. “He wasn’t a good person. Picked a fight with the wrong guy, and so it goes.”

“Well then I’m really sorry.” After a beat, Sonny asked, “Is your mom?”

“What?”

“A good person?”

Rafael heaved himself up to sitting, and Sonny knotted his brow, appearing sad to have lost the contact.

“She’s one of the best unless you cross her,” Rafael said, “so what’s with the interrogation?”

“Why didn’t you call her, you know? Back at the payphones, earlier? I mean, I honestly don’t mean to pry if it’s family stuff, I just started to wonder, I dunno, why you willingly bummed around with me all night.”

Rafael could tell the question was less about his own family dynamics and more about Sonny’s ego, whatever he was still processing from the party and his insecurities. It irritated Rafael, and the feeling was only amplified by his grogginess. “Because she doesn’t know about the divorce,” he said. “I didn’t tell her I was here, and it would have been a difficult way to break the news.”

“She doesn’t know you’re moving back?”

“Even _I_ don’t know that I’m moving back,” Rafael snapped. Then, softer, he said, “Not for sure, at least. I figured why dump a bunch of uncertainty on her at once? Why not let the dust settle--”

Sonny cut in, “So that you’re in control of the story?”

Rafael looked at him then, really looked at him, his mess of unruly hair and disheveled clothes. How had this guy he’d known for an evening, maybe less, just dug into the core of something it’d taken his therapist months to circle around?

“Jesus,” was all Rafael could muster in response.

Sonny shrugged. “I just assumed--”

“Well stop.”

“I honestly wasn’t tryin’ to pry.” Sonny looked sorry as he said it, but Rafael felt that wall hardening in his chest, irritation morphing into something white-hot and defensive.

“No, you were fishing for a compliment, and it's not a good look.”

Sonny raised his palms defensively. “Damn. I’m sorry, okay?”

They sat in a tense silence for a moment, Sonny considering something imperceptible on the comforter, and Rafael staring into the distant lights of the city, replaying the conversation in his head, all the ways it could have gone. Rafael pushed himself off the bed and wandered toward the window.

He had lashed out to protect that vulnerable part of himself that knew he should have told his mother what happened, the good and the bad. The part that knew that he _was_ attempting to maintain some control over the narrative, because without that, what did he have left?

His therapist had helped to identify that particularly insidious defense mechanism early on in their sessions, the way he could become downright vicious when backed into a corner.  It was no surprise that he clung to it, really, considering all the corners he’d been backed into as a kid. The best defense he ever had was his sharp tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Rafael said, still staring out the window, unwilling to see how it landed with Sonny. “It pains me to admit it, but you're right. I wanted to be able to… I wanted to know what I was going to say before I said it.”

“Yeah, I mean you were right too,” Sonny replied. “Can’t blame a guy for wanting to hear nice stuff about himself.”

Rafael looked back to Sonny and felt entirely softened by the simplicity in his wanting. He intended to lob a well-deserved compliment Sonny’s way, but when he spoke it came out differently. “Your hair looks... ridiculous.”

“That’s like, literally the exact opposite of what I wanted,” Sonny replied with mock despair, dragging his fingers through his hair in a blind attempt to fix it. “Besides, you look ridiculous in that robe.”

Rafael felt a fond smile tugging at his lips. “What, this old thing?” He rubbed a fuzzy lapel between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, where the hell did you find it? You look like some, I dunno, some rich old guy on a yacht.”

“Ouch. Old. At least give me that it’s not _my_ yacht.”

Sonny was grinning. “What, so you’re not the sugar daddy in that scenario?”

“What can I say? I prefer to be taken care of.”

Sonny’s cheeks went red at the statement and he looked away, rubbing his hand over his mouth as he managed to mutter: “Real smooth.”

Rafael shrugged, thoroughly enjoying the effect he’d had, the way he’d begun to recognize Sonny’s shy tells. He made his way back to the bed and resumed his spot tentatively. Sonny had no such reservations, however, and dragged Rafael back into his chest just as they’d been before. The woman on the television was now weepy-eyed in her interview about how no one had attended the party she’d thrown out of spite. He tried to focus on what she was saying, but the warmth emanating from Sonny’s chest overtook him.

“Thank you,” Rafael said, softly, as his eyelids began to sag with sleep.

“For what?” Sonny asked, and Rafael couldn’t believe he had the nerve to sound completely oblivious to what someone might thank him for in this situation. “‘Cause I know it’s not my TV commentary. Or my choice in television for that matter.”

After a moment, Sonny said, “No seriously, for what?”

But Rafael was too sleepy to reply.

\---

The bedside alarm clock blared with its staccato trilling at 4:15, and it startled both Rafael and Sonny up from where they’d fallen asleep together. The television had switched over to early morning infomercials about some serum derived from the fountain of youth, and the sun showed no signs of rising anytime soon.

Rafael pulled on his dry, day-old clothing in the white light of the bathroom and attempted to straighten his hair. As he puttered around the room making sure he was ready to leave, Sonny watched him reverently from the bed, regarding Rafael like he’d hung the stars. It made the impending ride to Boston and all the phone calls to replace stolen cards seem more dismal than Rafael thought possible, and so he tried his best to ignore Sonny.

Sonny tried to offer to grab them breakfast, or coffees, or any number of things that seemed all to be attempts at stalling, but Rafael was overwhelmed with the need to pull the bandaid off so to speak. The cab ride to the station was quiet and somber in light of Rafael’s refusals; both he and Sonny looked out their opposing windows, and Rafael considered how exactly to fix the situation.

Was there anything to fix, really? He felt a bit old to begin making the ardent promises about keeping in touch and potentially trying to recreate the evening; it felt too much like the end of summer camp.

Despite the fact that he did want something to come of this... even if he got the Brooklyn job he wanted, or the less-appealing job with Rita’s firm, how realistic was it to think that this momentary connection could become something grounded in reality? He knew next to nothing about Sonny, besides his having sisters, his job, the way he ate his pizza, the way he always walked on the traffic-side of the sidewalk. The way he looked holding that jacket, sheltering them from the rain.

And that he was a decade younger -- Rafael snorted at that particular thought, which drew Sonny’s confused attention beside him.

“Nothing,” Rafael murmured. “Something on the street.”

Sonny attempted a smile but it looked watery and hollow; Rafael had to look away.

Penn Station was as bustling as when they left; still a vein of anxious passengers all shuffling into lines, huddling in the same patches near departure boards, munching on the same pastries, sipping on the same coffees. It was as if nothing had changed, which seemed impossible, considering all the things that had.

“I’ll hang out ‘til your train,” Sonny offered when Rafael pointed out his departure on the board where it had finally appeared toward the bottom, cementing its existence into reality. “If that’s okay with you, I mean.”

“I’d like that,” Rafael said.

Without a ticket, Sonny couldn’t enter the Amtrak lounge, so he bought coffees for the both of them at one of the cafes, allowing them to loiter together in a plastic booth. Sonny filled the air with aimless chatter, talking about how he was going to have to help his dad with some plumbing work at the family’s house that afternoon, how tough it was gonna be with exactly no sleep clocked after their evening adventure.

Rafael could barely follow the conversation as he instead mapped out various decision trees in his mind: if he got the Brooklyn job, if he got Rita’s job, if he asked for Sonny’s number now, if he gave Sonny his own number before he left, if he took a later train, if he never went back, if he told his mother what happened when he got home.

He took the battered paper ticket from his pocket and examined it as Sonny continued on, discussing the intricacies of the family dynamics that always reared their head during any major home-repair project.

“Can I-- I’m sorry to interrupt, can I get some quarters for a phone call?” Rafael crumpled the ticket back into his pocket.

Sonny regarded him curiously. “I mean, sure. What was it you said?” He pulled a few coins from his pockets, “You like to be taken care of?”

Rafael smirked as he accepted the handful of loose change. “Clearly you spoil me.”

“Yeah, so, you know… don’t ever say I don’t.”

Back in the corridor, the payphone trilled three times as Rafael played with its thick metal cord, wondering if it had been too early to call.

But then it clicked over to a woman's voice.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Rafael cleared his throat. “Mamí?”

“Rafi.” Her voice softened. “It’s good to hear from you, mijo. Why so early? What number is this?”

He let out a sigh. “It’s a long story.”

“So make it shorter,” she said, then laughed, and the familiarity of it unwound him. “Or don’t. It’s just good to hear your voice.”

 

When Rafael returned to the booth where Sonny had been shredding a paper napkin to pieces, Sonny immediately perked up with some news to share: “Didja hear? They just announced that your train’s the next one arriving on Track 12. Not for eighteen minutes, but it’s officially the next train on that track.”

“Only it’s not my train anymore,” Rafael said, taking a brief sip of his coffee in an attempt to squash his apparent delight. He loved to be in charge of a slow reveal.

Sonny furrowed his brow.

Rafael set his cup down and slid the remaining quarters across the table toward Sonny. “I called my mother. I told her everything.”

Sonny gaped. “Everything? Wait, she was awake?”

“Well, the important things. The things that I’d been keeping from her, you know, in some misguided attempt to control the story. And to your second point, yes. Many wonder if she ever sleeps.”

Sonny’s smile turned watery again and Rafael had to look at a point over his shoulder to continue. “Quit that, okay? Look. She’s going to meet me for breakfast, and we’re going to take care of filing a police report and canceling my cards. And getting a new phone, I suppose.”

“So you’ll let her help you file a police report, and not the actual police officer who wanted to do it hours ago?” When Rafael rolled his eyes, Sonny added, “I’m kidding, I'm kidding. So, good for you then.”

“Good for me," Rafael echoed. "At least until the initial charm of seeing her only son wears off. I’m due for a rather drawn out lecture at some point.”

“I know how that can be.” Sonny sighed and began to fidget with his coffee cup. “Well, anyway, I guess, so this means--”

“Stop,” Rafael said and held up a hand. “I’m too old and too, I don’t know… I just refuse to draw this out and play coy. I owe you pizza. ‘You can get the next one,’ that’s what you said, right?”

Sonny nodded, his expression an apparent struggle to keep a lid on some sort of over-pouring.

Rafael pulled the ticket from his pocket and flipped it over to its blank side, then produced a pen from his bag. “Write your phone number down and charge your phone and I’ll call you when I get whatever new abomination the cell phone company bleeds me dry for. So, I’ll fulfill my end of the deal.” He slid the pen and paper toward Sonny, adding: “It might not be pizza, though.”

“Deal,” Sonny said. He scribbled something that seemed longer and more drawn out than a simple phone number, because of course he did, then folded the ticket about eighteen times and handed it back.

Rafael wagged the paper. “Now go home and get some sleep and fix whatever’s wrong with your parents plumbing.”

“Thirty-odd years of avoiding professional opinions, that’s what,” Sonny replied, then laughed to himself. He stood and collected his cup, and Rafael followed him out of the cafe, across the station floor and into the winding corridor where they’d met hours ago.

“So now I guess--” Rafael began, but he was cut off by Sonny’s hug, awkward as they both attempted not to spill their coffees in the process. They kept it brief, but Sonny managed to press a kiss in Rafael’s hair as they broke apart, and he felt his cheeks prickle despite himself.

“Thank you,” Rafael said. “Not for that”--he touched at his hair-- “I mean--.”

“Nah, I know,” Sonny said with a smile that made Rafael think he did. “Anyway, I’ll uh-- I guess I’ll be seein’ ya.”

Rafael leaned against the wall and watch Sonny thread easily into the pedestrian traffic. He glanced back once with a goofy look on his face that twisted at Rafael’s heart. Once Sonny was entirely out of sight, Rafael unfolded the ticket to find that beneath his phone number Sonny had written:

_You get the next one and I’ll get the one after that. Welcome home!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining along on this ride! I had a ton of fun with this challenge -- especially in trying to find a great way to incorporate the yacht line, because what AU is complete without it? Comments and [tumblr friends](http://oh-little-owl.tumblr.com/) are always appreciated!


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